


I'll lean into you

by tothemovies (jayjem_jam)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, hirugami as a famous model slash environmental researcher, hqrarepair week 2020, italian escapades whoo, pisa pisa pisa, the adlers train in verona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjem_jam/pseuds/tothemovies
Summary: “Probably more fun than I had for ages,” he shrugs, feeling honesty settles like something familiar in his chest. “Thanks for having me.”“Thank you for all you do for Hoshiumi-kun,” Ushijima returns. “He is happy, like this.”Sachiro watches Kourai bicker with Kageyama about the technicalities of angles. He thinks he knows.
Relationships: Hirugami Sachirou/Hoshiumi Kourai
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	I'll lean into you

**Author's Note:**

> day 3: ice cream | italian city
> 
> they're in pisa!!! and they are in love, your honour... please join me in screaming about hoshihiru i legitimately cannot stress how much i love them look at this this is 5k of me just rambling about them please send help
> 
> no i did not make a leaning tower joke what do you mean...

Sachiro has stepped foot off the Intercity for roughly _three_ seconds, before the mob starts fanning out of the way and whispering at him.

Granted, it’s not for the usual reason _why_ groups of people start crowding him, but it’s all the same uncomfortable feeling. This time though, he’s decked out in well-deserved brand sunglasses, coat and face mask, awaiting the throng of people to thin out before he can locate the exit out from the station, to catch a sight of Pisa outside of photos and postcards. 

His phone hums and buzzes in his pocket. It’s no Roma or Firenze, so he fumbles with his pockets to fish out his phone, squinting at the jumble of language squiggles determining his fate in exiting this fun underpass. Someone brushes by his elbow and he swallows back a yelp, retracting his limbs as close to his body as humanly possible, huffing out a ragged breath as the phone rings on. 

“Gee, Kourai-kun,” he heaves out a breath. “Pick up the phone, will you?”

He realises, two seconds in, that he’s _receiving_ the call, so the onus falls on _him_ to _pick up the call,_ so he swipes right across the screen and immediately apologises, leaving no room for Kourai’s excellent brain to deduce why he wasn’t able to answer right away.

“Sachiro,” Kourai says, a million things at once. “Yer still stuck inside, aren’tcha?”

At least he’s a little nice about it and phrased his words in some semblance of a question.

“If I say yes,” Sachiro very tentatively - _very_ tentatively - selects his words. “Will you come help? It’s dark.”

He can’t hear Kourai-kun very well now, since he decided to start running, but he has a feeling that he’s being scoffed at. That is very rude. He is gay. He is new in town. He loves dogs. Let him breathe.

“Do you know where you are exactly or are we playing the guessing game?” Kourai wonders, and Sachiro hums, code for _we do not know a damn thing separately or collectively._

“Can you find overpass three?” 

He sees it. He is scaling up the little stairs. “Yeah?”

Suddenly, he is accosted, though it’s not with the usual intent to rob him and then leave him without dignity. This is the same hand that had caught his many times before, that demanded him to follow in its endless pilgrimage, rough hands, hands that hold the world succinctly in the rough, volleyball-kissed palms.

Kourai seized him by the lapel of his coat, light eyes honed into him in the muted light filtering from behind them, gauging his reaction, fingers tightly wound into his outer layer, firm and urgent.

Sachiro feels his face smoothe into a toothy grin at their eyes meeting.

“Hey Kourai-kun. Long time no see.”

Kourai lets out a soft ‘tch’ before whipping his head to the side, mumbling something rude under his breath, before swinging back to him.

“You’re helpless without me,” he declares, sure of his words. Sachiro can’t fault him there, because that is true, he is helpless without Kourai soldering on ahead and clearing a path before him. They’ve existed apart for long enough for codependency on his end to fade away to a bad, terrible habit, but now that they’re in the same orbit again, old habits flare up like a flame renewed to life, all-consuming now

Kourai’s hands relent their tight hold of his coat, the only contact between them after years of no physical contact post high school, before the other clandestinely pulls out his left hand shoved in his pants pockets, holding his wrist prisoner. They start marching away, up and out into a dark and empty car park, with Kourai making sharp turns here and there, until the muted golden light of Pisa greets them, washing over their faces like a faint breeze, buses and cars and people mingling about in the streets.

He takes it all in. Kourai courteously slows his pace, enough for them to amble and gaze about, but his grip is solid and _warm_ across Sachiro’s wrist. At the crossing where the other is too busy trying to read a text while the light is green, he pulls away to grasp clumsily onto Kourai’s hand, fingers bumping and curling together, not matching nicely at all, but the firm reciprocation, the crushing grip Kourai returns his grab with, it’s almost flattering. Hoshiumi Kourai, Olympic-level athlete, cannot pay attention to his surroundings, but will hold onto one Hirugami Sachiro instinctively no matter the reason.

Bet his fans will lose their minds at that.

“Your fans will be heartbroken at this,” he teases, rearranging their hands. “Where are the others?”

“They’re getting back from dinner,” Kourai shakes the phone in his other hand before pocketing it. “I’ve got a key, so we should be all good. Us four will be sharing bunk beds in a room, so is that alright with you?”

He shrugs. It’s not the worst sleeping arrangements he’s been in. He’ll survive.

“And,” Kourai stomps his boots once, on the frigid ground. Sachiro idly wonders if it snowed recently. “What about _your_ fans? Wouldn’t they be heartbroken at,” he looks at their joined hands, “this all?”

“We’ll get there when we get there, Kourai-kun,” he beams, and Kourai rolls his eyes, dragging him along a wide street. 

Kourai pulls out his keys to open the room door when it yanks open from the inside, one Kageyama holding onto the door handle blinking down at Kourai, then across at him. He bows once, deeming the two of them a collective, single unit of being, before stepping aside, pulling out his phone.

“Hoshiumi-san,” the Schweden Adlers setter declares, tone holding no room for arguments. “I’m going to Pisa Tower.”

Kourai, an arm freed of his coat, squints at him. The door is eased a little bit closed, before Kageyam turns back to return the inquisitive stare that his senior is dishing out to him. Off to the side, Sachiro lets his eyes take in his surroundings, the stale smell of a youth hostel, and an Ushijima reading leisurely on the bottom bunk of one of the beds, eyebrows drawn together.

Sachiro shuffles over, clearing his throat softly. “Ushijima-san.”

Ushijima lifts his head up, wonderfully gorgeous, like a slab of marble - Sachiro can attest to this, he spent like two whole days in Firenze wandering in and out of museums, he knows what a handsome piece of marble looks like - and hums back a perfectly polite ‘Hirugami-san, I trust your journey was well’.

“It went very well. How has training been, Ushijima-san?”

“Conductive. Calzedonia Verona had been very kind and accommodating to us ‘crashing their practice’,” Ushijima reports, and Sachiro is endeared to hear the air quotes in his words. Maybe Tendou’s lessons have paid off, after all.

“That’s very kind of them,” he smiles. “How do you find Italy so far?”

“Well,” Ushijima tilts his head, considering his question. No doubt he had been asked this question, but seeing that he had only interacted with his team thus far, he probably was not expected to answer beyond the reach of Tendou back home. “It seems we are going to visit the Leaning Tower soon. I quite enjoy reading about their agricultural practices.”

He hums, delighted, ready to impart his two weeks worth of knowledge from volunteering in the Cinque Terre. Ushijima nods closely when he speaks about the grape vines and the corroding drystone wall, asks him about what he did while he was volunteering, what his thesis would amount to now that he had field experience, what recommendations he would make regarding the unsustainable tourism issue of the region. They get caught up in all these environmental issues that they do not realise that the bickering duo have ceased their bickering, and hover like unsettling presences by the lockers, staring into his and Ushijima’s souls.

“Are yer done yet?” Kourai grouches, gripping onto a steel door. “Can we please go soon? I don’t want to answer the armed forces on why I’m hovering around the tower taking weird photos.”

Kageyama frowns back. “But you’re a tourist. You’re meant to be looked at weirdly.”

“Oh boo hoo, cry me a river, Tobio-chan. Sachiro, yer done yet or are we incapable of chatting while walking? It takes half an hour by foot to get there, can we please move now?”

Without waiting for actual input, Kourai starts to march off, coat ready. Sachiro apologises to the boys, who hold no hard feelings for that hissy fit, which he knows is a usual occurrence, but still, they didn’t need to see that. Today is supposed to be a nice, relaxing, volleyball-free day. He chases after Kourai, not catching Kageyama’s _so he’s just jealous of us hogging Hirugami-san’s time, is that not what that is._

He definitely doesn’t hear Ushijima’s _perhaps we should let them have this time for themselves, Kageyama-kun._

  
  
  


The Tower belongs to this perfectly cordoned off square away from the city shopping district, closer to the original medieval city wall than he previously thought, brightly lit with patrolling armed forces standing by, armed crossed, armament ready to apprehend no-do-gooders.

Their little excursion group has taken corner after corner after descending down a little alleyway, their itinerary dependent on Kageyama’s memory of the directions from Google Maps. Ushijima had data issues. Sachiro does not have enough battery percentage to sustain that kind of strain on his poor old phone. Kourai flat out refuses for them to use his. Kageyama’s phone was charging in the case that they need directions back to the hostel, so they’re going off his memory and Kourai’s instincts, who had informed him that this was an art in frequent practice and success over the weeks they’ve trained in Verona.

They took a corner and Kageyama tripped and slid upon seeing The Tower. Kourai barked out a string of guffaw upon witnessing his misfortune while Ushijima helped him back up. Kageyama red and flustered, marched first to the square of architecture, fuming.

They ooh’d and ah’d appropriately when they tilted back their necks to see the full length of the monstrosity of the building, tilting and managing to stand upright despite all of that, the end sinking into the cement holding it all up. They spent a while at it, taking photos from all angles, before Kageyama asked if Ushijima could take a photo of him with the Tower, before Ushijima proceeded to ask Sachiro for the same thing.

He got a photo of him and Kourai, shoulder shoved against one another as they bickered while Ushijima snapped away candids. They turned out alright, not too bad, actually, before they broke off to shuffle over to see the Museo and the church, noting the armed force standing literally in eyesight. Reaching a unanimous agreement that this is enough scouting around and night time photos of the empty square, Kourai corralled the group for a late supper, pulling them back to the shopping strips, sensing and possibly hearing Sachiro's stomach betraying him.

“We should climb The Tower,” Kageyama solemnly suggests. “Tomorrow morning.

“First thing,” Kourai agrees, pushing Sachiro’s thigh aside so he can squeeze next to him along the long bench. “And it’s _la torre.”_

Kageyama purses his lips, perusing the menu. “I only know English. And specific Sicilian words about fishes.”

“Wasn’t askin’ about yer language capacity, buddy, but thanks for that. What are you ordering, Ushijima?” Kourai hands the last menu over to Ushijima, head pushed into Sachiro’s arm to stare at the food on the page. “Should we get some drinks too, boys?”

Sachiro shrugs, amenable to anything at this point. It’s chilly out, and the top of his head feels appropriately cooled, but Kourai burns hot against the right side of his body, so he’s not that cold, really. Whispering a soft _ignore him, please, Kageyama-kun,_ he then begins the campaign of getting Kourai to order gnocchi as well as a large helping of pizza, before Kourai shoves him aside with an elbow and takes over the ordering when the waiter waltzes by their table.

For people who already had dinner, Kageyama and Ushijima sure eat like they consume at least three times the amount that regular humans eat, but they’re all athletes at some point or another, all of them. Even if Sachiro exacted his movements to expend the least amount of energy possible, he had to compensate for that in eating enough to feed a small army, so this is acceptable. He and Kourai shamelessly steal each other’s foods while Kageyama tries to unpeel the tape from his fingers to pick up the pizza slices. Ushijima, both alike in dignity and confused young adult, picks up a slice and watches in mild horror as it droops over the back of his hand, cheese glob sliding clean off the tomato paste and splattering onto his plate. Kourai makes a _shit sucks_ noise while Sachiro gently directs Ushijima to cut his slice in smaller pieces to reduce the chances of that happening again, him resorting to a fork after ample opportunities to try his hands, literally, to consume pizza, for the full Italian experience.

Drinking with now a legal adult Kourai is much more comfortable than drinking with him while they’re underage and trying to keep quiet in the Hirugami household. Drinking and giggling at Kageyama regaling him with stories about how they got lost in Verona for so long _because Hirugami-san, all the piazzas look exactly the same, it’s a conspiracy._ The kid is a talkative drunk, loose and sweet, showing them screenshots of his conversations with his old teammates, while Ushijima chimes in occasionally, melting right into the seat, eyes slipping into a half-lidded look. Sachiro hopes the guy isn’t a sleepy drunk, because he does not want to be carrying that deadweight half way back into their hostel. Ushijima is built like a slab of marble and he _looks_ like he weighs at least like a slab of marble too.

Kourai nudged into him, grin loose and crooked on his mouth. Sachiro wonders if his mouth is as warm as his arm and shoulder, downing back a shot of something sweet and tingly, the sweet wine burning a path down the inside of his throat.

  
  


They paid for four beds, and there are four of them, but Kourai refuses on grounds of him being tipsy, to take the top bunk, and so everything totals to him sharing a bed with Sachiro. They’ve done this plenty of times in the past, and the other two are already in their respective beds, snoring away, to witness this entire argument. Sachiro drank enough to feel fuzzy and warm in his chest, struggling with his coat and flopping onto the bed, rolling onto an arm once Kourai crowds him in against the bare wall, throwing an arm and a leg over his shoulder in the dark, eyes closed as he breathes in. Out. A rhythm of breaths.

“Kourai-kun?”

“Mhm?”

“Thanks for meeting me out here.”

“Why are yer saying goodbye already, there’s a whole day ‘head of us tomorreh. Go to sleep, overthinker.”

Sachiro curls a little bit tighter and closer to Kourai in the dark. He thinks Kourai knows.

They all leave their bags in the concierge before mucking around with the drums in the hostel, Sachiro absently plucking at a guitar with half its strings missing while Kourai barks out a laugh at Kageyama fumbling with the snare drum. Returning the guitar back to its rightful stand, Sachiro sips at his caramel macchiato and grins as Kourai Snapchats everything, even Ushijima’s ability to pick up a beat under ten minutes of them crowding around a Youtube demonstration.

“Walking again or should we rent some bikes?” He asks, and Kageyama visibly brightens. Maybe it reminds him of the sunshine boy.

“It’ll take less time. And we can just avoid the bulk of the tourists that way,” Kourai shrugs. “We just seein’ _la torre,_ correct?”

“And the Crypt,” the other two parrot together.

“Sachiro?” Kourai turns to him.

“I kinda want to check out the museum. You guys can go off on your own, and when I’m done I’ll call?” 

“I’m not goin’ with these nutjobs to see engraved tombs, so I’ll wait for yer outside the _museo._ We got everythin’? Can we leave? Bikes out in the shed in the back, come on, move quick.”

The wind chills his ears, even when he’s covered up in a beanie, and he laughs as they shoot across the major bridge (Ponte di Mezzo), Sachiro calling out for Kageyama and Kourai to watch out for the joggers on the footpath. They zoom through the shopping district once more and come to the outside gate, in direct view of the Tower and everything else, locking their bikes, readjusting coats and beanies as they crowd in, oohing and ahhing as the sunlight lights The Leaning Tower a polished white, like it’s newly constructed.

It takes a while for them to navigate to the ticket booth, because the lawn holds strict ‘Do Not Walk’ signage and Ushijima is under strict belief that if you transgress the rightful law of this land, the armed forces will not hesitate to shoot you on sight. Kourai says he’s a little paranoid. Kageyama thinks that he can make a run for it.

They’re poring over the options now, Kourai glancing briefly at the attractions. 

“You wanna look at the frescoes as well, Sachiro?” He asks, quiet, a breath tickling under his chin

“I’ll take forever,” he whispers back. “Don’t want to make you wait for too long, Kourai-kun."

Kourai shrugs, before shouldering his way to the ticket booth, chatting pleasantly to the ticket master in soft Italian. He aggressively bats away the bills that Ushijima and Kageyama hold out for him, and Ushijima makes him swear an oath to let him buy them all lunches. Kageyama leads them out to the bright sunlight, blinding the Tower in a brilliant, celestial white.

  
  
  


The hike upwards was certainly a different experience from the cliffside terrain that he was accustomed to, but after two weeks of trekking from one village to another, the climb up The Tower wasn’t as horrible as it could have been. Ushijima is ahead, swift and firm footsteps to Kageyama’s calculated ones. Kourai does not hold onto the handrail, and occasionally peers out into the stone-cut squares on the side of the Tower, looking directly into the sunrise. The light washes his pale hair in muted tones of gold.

Halfway to the top - Kourai squints down at him, eyebrows pulled together.

“How come yer not out of breath, Sachiro?”

He blinks, coming back to reality. The climb had been strangely therapeutic and he fell into an easy rhythm, not thinking as he put one foot in front of the other in repeated motions.

“Cinque Terre is all cliffside and hike trails, Kourai-kun. I feel like I’m 90% more lungs than human at this point,” he grins, easy and free, sweat coating the base of his skull. It’s a welcomed strain. He spent too long in transit to be able to exercise properly yesterday.

“Maybe we should come down, see what it’s like,” Kageyama suggests from somewhere out of view. “I saw photos, but I wanna be there.”

“In time, Kageyama-kun,” Sachiro tells him. “All good, Kourai-kun?”

Kourai rolls his eyes, pushes a finger into his sweat-soaked bangs, and draws back, sunlight washing over tanned skin now.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s keep moving, we’re holding up traffic.”

  
  


Ushijima’s soft Mandarin got them super quality group photos, with Kourai also getting a couple of him and his teammates together, before the two of them - Sachiro and Kourai, Hirugami and Hoshiumi - bundle together for a few snaps. Ushijima bows quietly to the cameraman in thanks, before they all wind out outside, near the loose railings, overlooking the rolling Tuscan landscape.

Sachiro can stay up here forever. He’s sure of it.

Kourai is warm and sunlight-washed by his side. Sachiro thinks he also agrees.

  
  


The slide down is a little jarring, but Kourai holds on, tight and constricting, onto his fingers, and Sachiro is too charmed to mention that they would just fall in a two-people lump. 

Upon their exit, Sachiro’s knees wobbling a little, Kageyama and Ushijima immediately make a beeline to the crypt, as he wanders to the church in the middle of the square, Kourai tailing behind him. They don’t quite talk as they squint - well, Kourai squints, Sachiro has his sunglasses on. He heard some Japanese - and he prays that they don’t get mobbed while they’re out here, just trying to sightsee.

“Kourai-kun,” he murmurs, when he senses that he might be attracting some eyes. “I’m going into the museum now. You want to come?”

Kourai shakes his head, shoulders pulled into his ears. “Didn’t buy a ticket, buddy. It’s fine. I’ll wait. Go, go in. I’ll be in the garden.”

In what he hopes isn’t fleeing away from momentary danger, he walks briskly to the museum, handing over his ticket and smiling a _grazie_ as he speeds through the first floor, before meandering to the deeper corners, deeper stretches of the museum, nodding at the Madonna and the Child, the tiny 3D model of the Tower, eyes scanning the wooden Jesus artefact. It’s there. It’s literally there.

  
  


Up and down stairs. Along corridors. Glass cases. Italian finally settled in his brain after his last ditch attempt of trying to decipher English. 

He finally finds himself out in the garden, grass green and lush, with Kourai tipping his head up at the bright sun, the Tower looming impressively behind him. Unable to help himself, he fishes out his phone, taking a photo of the sight. It was an impressive sight. Took his breath away and all that.

Kourai, because he’s attuned to everything Sachiro-related, snaps his eyes open in an instant, rolling his eyes at the raised phone that Sachiro holds up, striding closer, and closer.

“Wanna get some _gelato_ later?” He asks, fingers warm across Sachiro’s wrist.

He feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, let’s do that. You and me.”

Kourai grins, wide and wonky. “Just us.”

  
  
  


Kageyama and Ushijima had not only been nowhere near as offended as he thought they would, given that he and Kourai essentially fled when the Japanese tourists started recognising the both of them by face and they took off into the shopping district by bikes. They got _gelato,_ as promised, Kourai biting into his dessert while Sachiro leans back on the bike along the riverbank, licking idly into his _gelato_ cone. They’ve taken a long route back, and it’s completely fine, actually, they don’t have to be anywhere else besides with each other right now.

“Had fun?” Ushijima asks, poised perfectly straight like the cue stick he’s leaning on. Kageyama is gauging the angle from the other side of the billiard table. Tendou is on video call.

The stick shuffles back before shoving forward, knocking into the smattering of balls spread across the table. Kageyama whoops in victory before taking his turn. Kourai settles by the side of the table, waving hello to Tendou. Sachiro nods at Ushijima, who stands by his side.

"Probably more fun than I had for ages,” he shrugs, feeling honesty settles like something familiar in his chest. “Thanks for having me.”

“Thank you for all you do for Hoshiumi-kun,” Ushijima returns. “He is happy, like this.”

Sachiro watches Kourai bicker with Kageyama about the technicalities of angles. He thinks he knows. 

  
  
  


They part ways, too soon, at the train station. Kourai and the Adlers back to Verona. He’s boarding a train to La Spezia to clear up some clerical matters before getting everything ready in Florence for Hell Week. Kourai does not let his hands go. He doesn’t want to be let go of.

“Come to Verona,” Kourai suggests. Asks. Demands. It all blends into one in his steady voice. “Come see me. I’ll take you to Casa di Giuletta. There are amphitheatres and museums and my games with Calzedonia.”

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep, Kourai-kun,” he murmurs, feeling his heart in his throat and in his fingers and under his skin. “Today was fun, wasn’t it?”

Kourai’s face twists. “It’s not enough.”

“It’s something, isn’t it? Maybe this is what we can do in these circumstances.” He hates being reasonable out of the two of them, but they care too fiercely about their own futures and careers as well as each other, so already, this is too much and too little, this day trip out to Pisa for conflicting interests to convene and overlap.

Kageyama hovers around. He seems worried that Sachiro can’t handle the situation. This isn’t anything new for him. This is the same argument they rehash every time they spend time apart and together.

“Okay,” Kourai declares, but he doesn’t let go. “Fine."

“Fine?” He echoes, lost.

Kourai’s eyes burn like a fire that eats alive an entire forest region, crackling and destructive infernal gold. His hands grab at Sachiro’s upper arms now. Shoulders. Neck. Jaw. A thumb brushing under his eyes.

“Kourai-kun?” 

“I’m making promises I can keep,” Kourai murmurs. “And I’m keepin’ you.”

He hacks out a laugh, though it’s sniffly and slobbery at best. “I’m not a dog, Kourai-kun."

“That wasn’t a no,” Kourai observes, sharp enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. Volleyball-rough fingertips. Calluses on palms. Warm hands. Heart beating irregularly under skin.

Sachiro thinks he loves this man. But then again, he thinks Kourai was in full awareness of that already.

“Yeah,” he grins, wet and giddy. “I’m staying with you.” 

  
  


Kageyama creeps over to him, showing him a photo he took when the team was out in Verona, exploring its old, cobblestone streets.

It’s a medieval house, with an age-worn brick wall and an impressive structure. People are jamming little slips of paper and removing bricks. Kourai is in the middle of the shot, a slip of paper in his hand, as he approaches the wall, intent clear.

“What did he write in it?” He asks the setter, who pockets his phone and shrugs.

“Guess you’ll have to come to Verona and see.”

Kourai swears at him once he boards the train and makes a threatening gesture to Sachiro through the glass. Ushijima waves once, a succinct goodbye. Sachiro watches until the train pulls out of the station, forlorn and fond.

He does have time - like a single Thursday night bleeding into mid-afternoon Friday. Perhaps. Perhaps.

From Florence to Verona isn’t half bad. He puts question marks in his itinerary, and boards his own train.

**Author's Note:**

> 90% of this was inspired by my italian travels. i went to pisa for a day trip with two mates of mine and i did not include this part explicitly but hoshihiru biked around the pisa medieval city wall and raced each other, y'know, like kids
> 
> calzedonia verona is actually a supalega [team](https://www.sofascore.com/team/volleyball/calzedonia-verona/24223) ranking in the top 8 - the equivalent of japan's V-1 league. also there is something so beautiful in hoshiumi training in the star-crossed lovers' town. i have not been in verona, but i spent time in pisa and the cinque terre, and comments made in this fic are from genuine lived through experiences 
> 
> also can we just imagine,,, multilingual adlers trio, casually hanging out together in italy. kags took the boys down to sicily to see noya at some point and they tried fishing. ushiwaka loved the rolling mountain ranges of tuscany and took the other two to those agritourism farmland tours. they all spoke decent conversational italian after romero deciding to not speak english at all since he landed on european soils and hoshiumi thinking why not, let's learn italian. on that note, hoshiumi just said 'so i'm meeting up with my boyfriend but i don't wanna go by myself' and the absolute lads kageyama and ushijima were like 'we got you, bro' and just came along, no questions asked. THEY ALL GET ALONG, YOUR HONOUR. they love and support their fellow pining gay teammates. also established ushiten
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hozukitofu) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jenny_benny)! i have a writing [twitter](https://twitter.com/jayjem_jam) if anyone is interested in more bs or we can just vibe in the void together


End file.
